


line without a hook

by a_static_world



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, kind of :), they love each other your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: Geralt’s...particular, about relationships. They're somehow always too much, and at times the feelings he connects to them are overwhelming.Especially with Jaskier.His emotions feel like they’re exploding; everything he got trained out of him flooding back when the bard is near.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 106





	line without a hook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anoddconstellationofthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts/gifts).



Geralt’s...particular, about relationships. They’re somehow always too much, and at times the feelings he connects to them are overwhelming. Especially with Jaskier. His emotions feel like they’re exploding; everything he got trained out of him flooding back when the bard is near. They have this unspoken...thing. Well, they fuck, and Jaskier is affectionate, and Geralt is not. Unspoken only in the sense that it’s clandestine, really, and in the fact that Geralt can’t say what he feels to save his life. He couldn’t give a damn about the way the bard touches him; simply being in his presence is enough, and he can feel the puddle of his emotions expanding.

Like right now, when they’re just lying in bed. The innkeeper gave them a room with two beds; naturally, they pushed them together. Jaskier’s holding his hand, sweeping his thumb across the twisted and scarred flesh like it’s a bolt of fine silk. They’re in the strange place between waking and sleeping, semi-conscious but silent, the crackling of the fire and the whistle of the wind through the loose windowpane providing all the noise they need. Geralt’s guts feel like an ocean, the waves roiling with every swipe of the bard’s thumb.

It’s been maybe six months since Jaskier found him at the river’s edge, nearly crying from exhaustion. Destiny giveth and it taketh away, he supposes. It took his  _ fucking _ sleep, and Jaskier gave it back to him. They haven’t separated since, and he’s begun to worry that he won’t be able to fall asleep without Jaskier’s humming. He’s doing it now, Geralt realizes, the sweeping of his thumb interspersed with light taps to the rhythm of the waltz he’s humming.

Winter’s coming, though, and they’ll have to separate again. Jaskier is always cheerful when they do, and not even Geralt’s enhanced senses can tell if it’s a facade. But he wouldn’t survive the trek to Kaer Morhen, and as he’s got a standing position at Oxenfurt in the winter, Geralt wouldn’t want to drag him away even if he could. He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss this, though. Every second of quiet domesticity, the game they play in public. (Jaskier dancing just far enough out of Geralt’s reach every time they threaten to bump into one another until they wind up kissing each other senseless in a back-alley.) 

Jaskier might not miss it, though. He might feel relieved to go back to Oxenfurt, have his own life again. Away from all the gore and trauma that comes from the Path, able to dress in fine clothes and wear all the perfume and lotion he wants without worrying about heightened senses. The question of whether or not Jaskier would be better off without him lives in the back of his mind, and, well. No better time to find out than now, when finding out might wreck him completely.

“Do you...like it, when I’m away?”

He asks the ceiling, not quite trusting himself to face Jaskier. The other man’s thumb never falters, continuing its steady path as he thinks. Geralt knows that if he looked, Jaskier’s face would be screwed up in an adorable mock-offense. The hand in his moves to his cheek as if it heard Geralt’s thoughts, forcing his face towards the bard and oh, yeah, there it is. 

“Darling, I am a  _ wreck _ when I’m without you. I don’t know what’s gotten into your head, but I am downright  _ morose _ all winter. Was it...something I said, to make you feel that way?”

Geralt snorts. The idea that Jaskier could ever miss him enough to be anything less than his usual ball of energy is ridiculous, frankly. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Jaskier’s got such a goddamn wounded-deer look on his face he shuts it again. They’ve separated every winter for nearly ten years, and every winter for ten years it has been just...fine. Sure, the nights at Kaer Morhen are strange, and his bed feels too big even though it is exactly witcher-sized, and the scent of Jaskier on his saddlebags leaves a sting when it fades, but still. He’s endured it for a decade; why should this year be any different?

_ This year is different because you love him _ . 

Or at the very least, he recognizes that this might be love. He pulls Jaskier a little closer, burying his nose in the mass of brown curls and inhaling. Campfire and wild grass and a hint of sweet wine, even when he hasn’t been drinking. The eclectic mix that’s undeniably Jaskier, and he’s pretty sure it couldn’t be recreated by even the greatest parfumier. 

“It felt like...like all my bones broke, that day I found you crying at the river. It hurt to see you like that, Geralt, and I’m...I’m grateful I could be the one to pull you from the tide.”

“Wasn’t crying.”

“Oh, sure, you great brute. The leaking from your eyes was from the  _ seventy-two fucking hours _ you’d gone without sleep.”

“That’s why I need you here, to stay. You’re the hook at the end of my line, Jaskier.” 

Not exactly a love confession, but close enough. As close as he can get right now, he thinks. He can’t  _ entirely _ ruin his reputation, not yet. Though he’s sure his brothers will smell the change on him as soon as he rides into the keep, and then he’ll have to endure a winter of endless questioning and teasing.  _ Is the White Wolf in love at last? _

Jaskier seems to appreciate the sentiment, though, turning his head just slightly to kiss Geralt’s chest. His hand resumes its tracing, fingertips running over the criss-cross of scars on Geralt’s torso, tapping up his ribs like he’s counting them, scratching down his biceps. Geralt thanks the goddess - not for the first time - for the fact that he’s not ticklish. Even if he were, he’s pretty sure he’d endure it, just for Jaskier. He’d endure a lot for Jaskier.

For now, though, Jaskier  _ is _ here to stay, safe and warm and real in his arms. He’ll take all the quiet moments he can get, because they’re either there or they aren’t, and, well, it’s rare that they are. So Geralt just breathes in, focuses in on the feeling of Jaskier’s fingers against his skin, and lets his eyes slide closed.

**Author's Note:**

> YA BITCH HAS NO CONTROL! NONE!  
> anyways,,,,, thank you ricky montgomery for getting this stuck in my head for a week (there's a reason this one's for you, [mars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts)) and creating this! whatever it is!  
> there's not a lot more to say on my end, since it's been two days since i uploaded last, but i hope you are all staying safe and wearing your masks! try to avoid traveling for the holidays if you can, and remember that someone (me) loves you.  
> xoxo static


End file.
